


Dreams

by TheNiftyNarwhal



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Klaus Hargreeves Deserves Better, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Other, Sad Klaus Hargreeves, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:27:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27988449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNiftyNarwhal/pseuds/TheNiftyNarwhal
Summary: Klaus can't physically leave the mausoleum, but he can hide in his imaginations, yes?~OR~Klaus daydreams of a normal childhood to comfort himself when no one else will.Disclaimer: New to the series, and was half asleep when I wrote this.
Kudos: 31





	Dreams

"Don't leave me here, please, no, no, no!" Klaus squeals, pulling his knees to his chest and rocking himself awkwardly back into the loneliest corner of the secluded, dark mausoleum on his bottom.

_"Help meeee!"_

_"What a precious little boy!"_

"Dad!" Klaus screams, pressing his palms firmly against his ears as tears stream like rivers down his pale, chilled cheeks, dripping like a tragic rain onto his navy blue blazer,"I'll be good, I'll be so good, Daddy!"

He knows it's completely futile to wail for his father, who hasn't a single solitary paternal bone within his stiff, stern body, but maybe Mommy will hear. He only calls her that in the quietest corner of his mind, well, when he can find a spot where it's calmer. 

That's the part of his brain that's a little boy, I mean, he's only thirteen now, but there's a baby inside him that just wants the absolute simplest things. They're things that most people would consider quite standard for a child, but poor little Klaus has never enjoyed any of them.

None of them have, no member of the Umbrella Academy, but Klaus probably wants them the most.

It's to this peaceful little nursery he tries to retreat to as the ghosts of a hundred moaning souls beg and plead for him to help them. 

Some want him to deliver messages, some want updates on relatives Klaus most likely will never meet, but the dead are selfish and assume he can, and will; some are just begging him to save them and he doesn't know what they expect him to do exactly. 

Surely, they can see by the terror magnifying his chatoyant green eyes that he's just as helpless as they are. 

He crawls away mentally, though, as best he can. He closes his feminine ebony lashes that contrast severely with the blatant white of his cheeks as they come to a rest at the crest of them. He takes a few deep breaths, and pretends he's in a nice, cozy room.

He squeezes his eyes closed tighter as an old woman screams in agony somewhere. His hands are trembling as he tries to warm himself up, the chill of the cement structure creeping into his very bones and making him freeze from the inside out, in more ways than one.

_The cozy room, Klaus, imagine it, picture it._

He orders himself inwardly to focus. 

It's by no means a fancy room, oh no, that's too much to ask for. The one he's thinking of is warm, and minimalistic. 

He thinks a log cabin might be the happiest place on earth just then. A front room with a rocking chair in it, a cushion tied to the back and the seat of it for comfort.

He sees it sitting in front of a crackling fireplace, a shaggy, soft rug at the base of it. 

A baby cries somewhere and a sob escapes him, despite his best efforts.

He quickly throws himself back into this safe little world he's creating in his mind. He gulps and feels a terrible tremor of loneliness that starts from his neck and reaches to the tips of his sock-covered toes as he imagines Mommy in the rocker. 

He pictures the amber glow of the flames on her ivory skin and golden hue to her flaxen locks. Her smile is bright red, equal parts seductive and maternal, all at once.

She has a gentle looking nightie on, and it looks so plush that Klaus would love to just wrap it around him and sleep. It's been so long since he had a good night's rest.

Grace glances towards him in his vision and he holds out his arms. He's just had a bad dream in it, because, in his most vivid manifestations, he wants to be normal. He wants to be woken up from slumber by his own mind and not the angry and horrified tones of the corpses that should be in their own eternal sleep.

In it, he looks up at her like she's an angel, and she is, to him.

He's been sleeping in a nice bed, with a cashmere quilt over his body, but now he's bolt upright in the wooden frame and crying his eyes out hysterically. 

Grace doesn't even make him come to her in the dream, instead, she stands, her stocking feet padding across the wooden flooring and crosses the room to the corner where he's sobbing.

He holds his arms up stiffly and pleads with all his heart for her to hold him. All he wants is to be held, really.

Grace leans over and scoops the little boy in his vision up and carefully holds him to her heart. He's a tall thirteen year old, but he's a skinny one, too, and there are benefits to having a not-quite-human Mom.

She cradles him, with one dainty but firm hand on his bottom and the other supporting his neck, his blue pajamas just thin enough for him to feel all snug and warm, but also to feel his mother's long fingers against him. The pressure is so nice and he just wants to be little, and loved, and safe like this, forever.

Grace carries him back to the rocker and settles back into it with Klaus atop her lap.

She holds him ever impossibly tighter, and he doesn't even whine about it, he nestles into the inviting comfort and hums in infantile satisfaction against his Mommy's breast as his tears seem to vanish almost immediately.

She starts singing to him and he almost breaks into a sobbing fit, immediately, just because it's so nice and relaxing just to know she cares and wants to soothe him.

"Lavender's green, silly, silly," she teases and tickles his slightly exposed tummy to lighten the dim mood that hangs like a paranoia in the room.

He giggles fragilly, and that's how he falls asleep fingers in his mouth, head to Grace's chest, and eyes fluttering closed tightly .

In real time, he's snapped back to reality.

He clasps his knees tightly in his grip and screams in a pain that no one could feel but him as someone showed him the bullet hole in the middle of their mutilated head.

He bites so hard on his bottom lip that he's sure he tastes the iron of his own blood and cries into himself, knowing it's just hurting his throat more for him to keep up his "caterwauling", as Dad called it.

He'll be here until tomorrow morning, at least.


End file.
